


As We Who Are Left Grow Old

by FallenInTheWetTypeWater



Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, Gen, Mentions of War, Survivors Guilt, Trauma, implied PTSD, mental health struggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 15:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21304082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenInTheWetTypeWater/pseuds/FallenInTheWetTypeWater
Summary: Gibbs visits a war memorial.Brought over from FF.net. Originally Published: 07-01-09, Updated: 07-01-09
Kudos: 8





	As We Who Are Left Grow Old

Hunched slightly against the cold, he trudged up the worn, snow covered steps, his great coat swirling around his legs as he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets in an attempt to thwart the blistering wind. His were the only tracks in the deep snow; this was a place many avoided or just never bothered to visit. Even the tourists stayed well clear and the majority of the local people preferred to keep their skeletons locked in their closets, so to speak. The cracked stone arches were familiar; too familiar. He had been here far too many times before and always for the same reason.

The night guard, secluded in his heated office and comforted by an instant coffee machine, knew his face and knew his purpose. The formal scrutiny of identification had long since been abandoned. The guard barely glanced up from his steaming mug nowadays; there was only one person who visited at this time of night. 'Evening, Gunny.'

The visitor barely nodded in acknowledgement. _"Gunny" – Gunnery Sergeant _It seemed so hollow now. Just another useless title and what use are titles in the grand scheme of things? Titles don't save lives, actions and actions alone save lives. Excepting when the same philosophy takes those very lives. His actions had cost lives. Too many lives. Once he was out of sight of the guard room he allowed himself the luxury of a limp. His shrapnel wound had never fully healed and had decided it would flare up in the cold.

His solitary footsteps echoed harshly off the white marble and he paused to rub the snow out of his graying crew cut. A cut he kept more out of habit and pride rather than regulation. His phone had been vibrating persistently ever since he had left from home and, up till now, he had simply ignored it. Sighing, he fished the irritating device from one of his many pockets and turned it off, dropping it back into the hollow cushion of fabric. Whatever it was, it could wait. The only upside to being abroad fighting for your country was that no one could reach you. _Except the enemy and your CO when you're on report. "Remember: if the enemy is in range, so are you." Useless training manuals. They were only ever good for a laugh – or bonfire fuel. _He stood for a while, savoring the calm and simplicity of the structure, watching his breath misting in the air before moving into the adjoining chamber.

The memorial and mausoleum were cold but it was a different kind of cold to the outside world and he welcomed it. The names were worn in places on the stone but he took the time to read each one; each date; to decipher each letter; to remember each face as they were. He was the only one left who could remember. The only one who was fortunate enough or unfortunate enough depending on your point of view, to survive what the government labeled an "unfortunate accident during a classified operation". _Politics: It was politics that got us into that mess in the first place. _They called him lucky, said he was a hero. Said how blessed he was to have come back home. _How little they knew._

_This is my home. This is where I should be. This is where I belong; with my squad. My unit. My friends. And I will remember them. All of them. Forever._

He would not leave until the last rays of sunlight rose in the east.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally titled "I Will Remember Them"


End file.
